


Happy Birthday

by allamaraine



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 22:10:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2404682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allamaraine/pseuds/allamaraine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Janeway plans a birthday surprise for Chakotay. Beware of super fluff and domesticity. A birthday present for tumblr user intrepidclass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday

Chakotay rolls his shoulders and rubs the back of his neck while he waits for the lift to take him to the ninth floor, where he shares a small, but cozy, apartment with Kathryn. He doesn’t like to admit it, but Harry is getting damn good. Back on Voyager, Chakotay started giving him boxing lessons and even after their return home, they have kept it up. Or at least, tried to. Often, Harry is off world on assignment or Chakotay is busy with the digs in Colorado, but they always manage to find time for a few sparring matches here and there. Earlier this afternoon, Chakotay had answered the door chime to find Harry on their doorstep, cheerfully waving a brand-new pair of boxing gloves and wishing Chakotay a happy birthday. Kathryn insisted he go with Harry, promising a “special surprise” upon his return. She loves birthdays, so long as they aren’t her own, and it took quite a lot of work to convince her that all he wanted this year was a quiet night at home with her. He would not be at all shocked to find that she had arranged for Harry to conveniently get some shore leave right in time for Chakotay’s birthday. When he pressed Harry about it, the lieutenant was adamantly noncommittal in his answers. Suspicious.

 

The lift comes to a halt. The doors slide open with an old-fashioned _ding!_ Chakotay steps out and heads for their front door, the third one down on the left. He places his palm on the panel next to the door. After the computer scans his hand, a stilted monotone voice says, “Welcome home, Mr. Janeway.” The door swings open. He is met not only by the happy prancing dance of their Irish Setter, a descendent of Molly, but also the tale-tell burnt smell and high-pitched whining of the smoke detector that signal one of Kathryn’s ventures into the kitchen. It has been a long time since she tried concocting anything more complicated than peanut butter and jelly. Undoubtedly, this has to do with his “surprise.”

 

He finds Kathryn in the kitchen precariously perched on a stool, vigorously hitting the smoke detector on the ceiling with the handle end of a spoon and muttering, “You damn no good piece of – ” A final, debilitating whack silences the insistent beeping and Kathryn grins in triumph.

 

Chakotay leans on the door post and looks up at her, amusement plastered all over his face. “Having a little trouble?”

 

Kathryn starts and drops her spoon. Scrambling off the ladder, she scoots in front of the stove in a failed attempt to hide several suspiciously smoking saucepans from his view. Kathryn offers Chakotay a strained smile and says, “Honey! _Sweetie_. You’re home early.” Honey _and_ sweetie? Oh, she’s definitely gotten herself into trouble. Pet names have never really been her thing.

 

Chakotay raises his eyebrows. “Need some help?”

 

“No! No, it’s your birthday. You just… sit. Don’t worry, I’ve got _everything_ under control.” One of the pots behind her boils over, the greenish-brown liquid sizzling as it hits the hot burner underneath. Kathryn curses and quickly turns to remove the pot from the heat. In her haste, she has forgotten to use pot holders. With a hiss, she yanks her hand away and instinctively starts waving her hand around in an attempt to relieve the stinging.

 

Chakotay is immediately at her side. He gently takes hold of her wrist and says, “Let me take care of that,” as he softly kisses the tips of her burnt fingers. She plants a kiss on the top of his head as thanks. He raises his head and meets her smile with one of his own, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Better?”

 

“Much.”

 

On the pretext of nuzzling at her collarbone, he attempts to sneak a peek over her shoulder at the still boiling over pot on the stovetop. Kathryn pulls away from his embrace, chiding him for peeking as she quickly covers the pot with a lid and removes it from the hot burner, this time with her hands safely encased in oven mitts. She checks on the other pot, her nose wrinkling with disgust and disappointment as she examines the contents. With a sigh, she carries the pot over to the replicator and carefully scrapes out its contents – an unsightly mass of blackened rice – into the replicator to be recycled. Then she turns to shoo Chakotay out of the kitchen, directing him to wait in the dining room.

 

Chakotay obstinately remains where he is. “Is that an order, Captain?”

 

Kathryn saunters over and dances her fingers up his sternum. “That’s Admiral to you, mister.” She tosses her hair back and stands with her hands on her hips, in mock seriousness. “And yes, it _is_ an order.”

 

“And if I disobey?”

 

“Well then, I will be forced to hold a disciplinary hearing. And we don’t want that, now do we?”

 

“No, ma’am,” he murmurs, dipping his head down for a kiss.

 

She turns her head, causing his lips to land on her jaw rather than her mouth. “Don’t think you can butter me up, Commander.” She points towards the kitchen door. “To the mess hall with you!”

 

He steps back and gives her a smart salute, his eyes still twinkling with mischief. “Yes, ma’am!”

 

Her faux-serious demeanor finally cracks and she laughs. Pleased, as always, by the sound of her hearty laughter, Chakotay grins and turns to go through the door. On his way out, she pats him on the rear, ignoring his accusations of “gross misconduct and misuse of power.”

 

 

 

Ten minutes later, having washed his hands and face, Chakotay is settled in at the dining room table – a rarely used item of furniture in their home – which is adorned with a cheerful yellow tablecloth and a vase full of tiny Ocampan bluebells, the seeds of which miraculously survived the 70,000 light year journey home with them. Kathryn appears in the doorway, bearing two steaming bowls. She sets one at his place and one at hers, but although she takes her seat, she ignores her own bowl as she watches him expectantly from across the table.

 

Chakotay chuckles when he sees what his birthday dinner is: gumbo. This has to be Ben’s doing. The mysterious return of Deep Space Nine’s former captain, and hero of the Dominion War, generated almost as much interest as the homecoming of Voyager. For weeks after he reappeared, all anyone could talk about were gods and prophets and a Bajoran Renaissance. Kathryn had sought him out, knowing what it was like to suddenly find yourself a celebrity on Earth. Now, things had quieted down for both Kathryn and Ben, but they have since become fast friends. A few months ago he had invited Kathryn and Chakotay to his father’s restaurant in New Orleans, where Chakotay had his first experience with Cajun cuisine. He had loved it and no doubt Kathryn has been plotting to prepare this meal for him since that day.

 

He scoops up a spoonful of the gumbo, one with a big fat shrimp in it, and tilts it towards her as a sort of toast. As soon as the gumbo hits his tongue, however, he is reminded very strongly of the times when he has been swimming and has accidentally gulped down a mouthful of seawater. He valiantly tries to keep a straight face as he gingerly swallows the salty concoction, but he can tell from the way Kathryn’s brows knit together that she has noticed his initial reaction.

 

“You don’t like it,” she says. 

 

Chakotay clears his throat. “Well I wouldn’t-”

 

Kathryn holds up her hands to interrupt him. She takes a bite of the gumbo herself and her face twists with revulsion. She coughs as she swallows and covers her mouth with her napkin. Her eyes water. “Oh that’s awful.” She sets down the napkin and reaches across the table for Chakotay, groaning and laughing at the same time. “I am so sorry.”

 

He takes her hands and rubs his thumbs across her knuckles. “Next time.”

 

“No, that’s it. I’m done.” She looks up to the ceiling with a sigh, her mouth in an exaggerated downturn. “I just need to accept there are some things in this world that I simply cannot do.”

 

Before Chakotay can respond, a loud mechanical voice announces, “Time’s up!”

 

Kathryn’s eyes widen and she exclaims, “The cake!” Making a beeline for the kitchen, she shouts back over her shoulder for him to stay put. Chakotay sighs. He fully appreciates the effort she’s putting into all of this but he was rather hoping for a less frantic Kathryn this evening. While waiting for her to come back in, he tentatively tastes another spoonful of soup. Nope. Still saltier than Cardassian fish juice.

 

Soon Kathryn triumphantly returns with the cake. It appears to be an angel food cake, piled high with whipped cream, strawberries, and blueberries. She proudly sets it down on the table.

 

“Think you got enough whipped cream there?” Chakotay asks archly.

 

“One can _never_ have too much whipped cream.” After sitting down, Kathryn cuts out a bite-sized chunk of cake, with a nice juicy strawberry on top and holding it between her thumb and her forefinger, she presents it to Chakotay. He squints suspiciously. He remembers all too well their wedding day when she decided to uphold the “time-honored tradition” of smushing the cake into her new husband’s face.

 

Now, she holds up her other hand as if taking an oath and says, “No cake on your face this time. Admiral’s honor.”

 

“All right,” he says, consenting to letting her feed him the piece of cake. And… it’s fantastic! The cake is light and airy, accented with a slight almond taste, and the strawberry tastes as if it was just picked today.

 

“Kathryn,” he says after he finishes eating, “It’s perfect.”

 

She smiles hesitantly, “Really?”

 

As an answer, Chakotay cuts out another piece and offers it to her. Her eyes light up at the first taste. Then she grabs Chakotay’s face and smooches him, her mouth still covered in whipped cream. “It worked! Chakotay! I can bake!” she exclaims. He can’t help but laugh; her enthusiasm is catching.

 

“Ben would be proud!” he says.

 

“Ben? Oh! No, actually it was Seven who helped me with the cake. She’s the one that pointed out that baking is nothing more than a series of chemical reactions and so if I approached it as I would a lab situation and well. Anyway, I’m sure she’ll be gratified to know her instruction was useful. Ben on the other hand … perhaps it’s best if we don’t let him know about the gumbo.”  


“Agreed. I think it might break his heart.”

 

She makes a face at the offending gumbo and says, “On the bright side, this means we get to have cake for dinner.”

 

“Mmm, I can’t think of a better birthday dinner.”

 

“I can,” she says with a sly grin.

 

“Oh, can you now?”

 

She reaches out for a strawberry and takes a deliberately slow bite out of it, carefully licking the juices off her lips when she’s done. Will there ever be a time when she doesn’t drive him crazy? He thinks not. Finally, she says, “Well, I’m sure you’re _very_ sweaty and dirty after this afternoon. And with that nice, big new bathtub you installed… we just can’t let all your hard work go to waste, now can we?”

 

“I like the way you think.”

 

She stands up and offers him her hand. He gladly takes it, allowing her to swoop him up into her embrace. She leans up and, after indulging in a little earlobe-nibble, she whispers, “Happy Birthday.”

 

It certainly is.

 

 


End file.
